The Zanzibar Wife

by Deborah Rodriguez

  “So it is your pride that brings us this gift,” she heard her aunt snort. “What, did her fancy sister finally tire of caring for her? Is she too busy with her rich Omani man to bother with this one?”

  “It is clear that her sister cares nothing for her.” Her uncle’s words came out slowly and deliberately, as if he wanted to make sure Sabra heard. “But to me—to me she is of value.”

  “And what value is that?” her aunt snapped back.

  “You will see. I am not a stupid man. I have a plan.”

  “You have a plan,” his wife repeated, her words dulled by disbelief. “Well, your plan had better include a way to bring more food into this home, or we will all starve to death.”

  That night Sabra had lain awake in the creaky cot she had once shared with Miza. Though the moon was full, sending shadows to the ground as she and her uncle wound their way through the dusty roads after having been dropped off by the daladala, the bus that brought them from Stone Town, in the blackness of the familiar room she could not even make out the fingers of her own hand. Like the windows of most of the houses in the village, hers was blocked tight to keep out the sun. She remembered how she used to dream of prying the thin iron sheets open with a kitchen knife or the edge of the metal dustpan to let in the daylight during those long afternoons waiting for Miza to come home from the sea. Back then the room had felt like a secret cave. Now it felt like a prison.

  Sabra could tell it was early morning only by the sounds of the roosters. She touched a match to the wick of the kerosene lamp and stretched, her long legs cramped from so much lying around. If only her aunt would allow her outside for some fresh air, she thought. And if she did, Sabra also thought, she would begin to run, and would not stop running until she was as far away from this room and this house and this village as her legs would take her. She wiped the dampness from her face and stooped to bring her eye to the one place where she knew the sunlight could sneak in—a tiny gap where the iron sheets did not quite meet.

  “Sabra, is that you?”

  She leaped back from the window, her heart pounding.

  “It is me,” the voice continued in a whisper. “It’s Bi-Zena.”

  Sabra couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the old woman who always seemed to save her toothless smile for Sabra, and even then only when no one else was looking. “Bi-Zena!” she whispered back excitedly, her lips held close to the open crack. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here for you.”

  “Did Miza send you? How did you know I was here?” Sabra remembered how her sister used to tell her that Bi-Zena had eyes that could see it all, that she knew everything about everyone in the village. Miza had even used Bi-Zena’s name as a warning to Sabra to make sure she behaved when no one was around to watch her.

  “No, child, your sister did not send me. It was the other seaweed women who have been talking of your return to the village. They say your sister left you behind, that she went to go live in Oman with her husband.”

  “That is what my uncle says as well! But it’s not true. Yes, she is in Oman, but only to have her baby. Then she is coming back home. Miza would never leave me.”

  “I was sure of that. They say she left you to live with your uncle. That I could never believe.”

  “It was my uncle who forced me to come here! He stole me from our home. Hoda, our maid, was watching me, but he threatened her and scared her away.”

  “Does your sister know you are here?”

  “He took my phone from me. Usually we send messages every day, but without my phone …” Sabra struggled not to cry.

  “Your uncle, he is treating you well?” Bi-Zena’s voice hardened with the question. “He is not bothering you?”

  “I have not seen him much.”

  “That is good.”

  “He must be very busy with his duties as the village elder.”

  Bi-Zena did not answer.

  “And busy making his plan.”

  “Plan? What plan?”

  “He told my auntie he has a plan for me. So she should not worry about the expense of having me here.”

  “And you know nothing more?”

  Sabra shook her head, forgetting for a moment that Bi-Zena could not see her.

  “Tell me the number for your sister. I will find someone who has a phone to let her know you are here.”

  “But I don’t even know the number she is using.” Sabra could feel the tears starting up again. “We just send our messages back and forth, that’s all. Miza told me to memorize the number, but I didn’t listen.”

  For a moment there was silence outside the window. Sabra had to wonder if her uncle had spied the old woman. But then Bi-Zena’s response came through, with a sternness that made Sabra stiffen. “Listen to me, child, and listen closely. I have my own plan. Tomorrow morning I will come back. I will be watching. And when your auntie leaves to go to the market, I will come and pay a visit to your uncle. When you see me, you must pretend you barely remember me, that you do not care. He must not know we have spoken. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Bi-Zena.”

  “Good. And in the meantime you must keep your eyes and ears open. If you should see or hear from anyone in the village, do not speak to them. We do not need our plans turning into their gossip. These people are afraid of your uncle, and will tell him anything if they think it will put them in good favor.”

  Sabra nodded. “I will be careful, mama.”

  “And listen carefully. Try to hear what your uncle is planning.”

  “Yes.”

  “I will be back in the morning. I promise.”

  “I know.” Sabra put her hand flat against the cool iron sheet, as if it would bring her closer to the woman’s soft touch. But instead what she felt was the tickle of something crinkly against her palm. Sabra lifted her hand and smiled as she watched the edge of a cellophane wrapper being pushed through the crack. A lollipop, the same as Bi-Zena used to sneak to her while she sat digging bottomless holes in the white sand, waiting for her sister to finish with her work. “Thank you,” she whispered as the candy dropped into her hand. And then the old woman was gone.

  As Sabra tucked the treat away, to be saved for later, her hand brushed against the kanga she’d so hastily stuffed in the satchel the day her uncle had come for her. Now she spread the piece of orange cotton over the cot, the missing half a painful reminder of her sister and the ocean that lay between them. Sabra smoothed the blue border of the cloth gently with her hand as she took in the fading words she’d never before paid attention to, hearing their meaning for the very first time in her life. Kila ndege huruka kwa bawa lake. Every bird flies with its own wings.

  26

  Hani’s father swatted the pile of tasseled pillows off the brown velvet sofa, sending them tumbling to the ground. When he bent to help Ariana up from her seat on the floor, Rachel noticed her flinch, and noticed as well her attempt to hide the reaction by pretending it was simply a sudden chill. Rachel understood why he had thought Ariana to be in trouble. When Hani introduced his father, Ariana looked as though she’d been kicked in the stomach. And though the color had suddenly drained from her face and beads of sweat seemed to be multiplying on her forehead, she was now waving away the man’s concern with a delicate flick of her hand and a weak smile.

  “I’m fine. No worries.” Ariana’s voice trembled. “If you don’t mind, I think I just need to go spend a penny.”

  The others in the room turned to each other, confused.

  “I’m sorry. I mean visit the loo.”

  “Visit who?” Hani’s eyebrows practically rose to his hairline.

  “Use the ladies’ room?”

  Hani’s father pointed toward the courtyard.

  “I will show you the facilities for our guests,” Hani offered.

  Rachel made a move to help her shaky friend up, only to find her own legs numb from the lack of blood. She remained on the floor as Hani cracked open the front door and motion
ed for Ariana to follow. “It is fine,” he assured her. “The wind has quieted for now.”

  Hani’s father lifted two half-empty platters off the mat and pushed his way through the swinging door with a heavy shoulder. Rachel flattened her palms onto the sofa behind her and hoisted herself onto the cushion, her two useless legs buzzing with pins and needles. She was bent over, massaging her calves when he returned through the door, tapping away at a phone as he lowered himself onto the sofa beside her.

  “You have eaten enough?” Hani’s father asked.

  Rachel nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Good.”

  Rachel sat and listened to the sound of his pecking as it filled the silence of the room. “So where is Miza?” she finally asked.

  “Resting.” He cocked his head toward the swinging door. “She is with my wife and daughters. They are taking care of her.” He went back to his phone.

  Rachel shifted in her seat, a little unnerved by the presence of this giant of a man. “So she’s okay?”

  Hani’s father grunted.

  “Are you going to do something to, I mean, for her?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders without looking up from the screen.

  She struggled for something else to say. What was it about this guy that was making her so uneasy? And who could he be so busy texting with anyway? He was as bad as Ariana with that thing.

  As if reading her thoughts, the man put down the phone and ran his fingers through his curly hair. “And you, you are okay?”

  “Me?” Rachel suddenly felt as though his dark eyes were looking right through her.

  “Yes, you.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Your sleep problem, it does not bother you?”

  She stiffened at the question. “What do you mean?”

  “There is a remedy. To give more energy. But only if you are interested.”

  “How did you know I had a sleep problem?”

  Again he shrugged his shoulders, and went back to his pinging phone. No way, Rachel thought. The guy’s just trying to impress me with a little beginner’s luck. Really, who doesn’t have sleep problems?

  “And your stomach? How is it doing?”

  “Just like any other poor schmuck who’s spent way too much time on the road.” Rachel stopped her hand from traveling to the spot just left of her belly button, the one that had been prone to spasms for as long as she could remember. “But might you have something for my chronic thyroid issue?” she countered, remembering a drug ad she’d seen on television.

  “Your thyroid is fine,” he answered with a chuckle that said he knew she’d been testing him. “But that scar on your arm, that I could make fade to nothing.”

  Rachel’s eyes flew to the spot of her tattoo, which remained completely covered by the cloth of her sleeve. The man stood and strutted away through the swinging door with the confidence of a rock star exiting the stage, leaving Rachel literally open-mouthed. It was the sound of raised voices coming from the courtyard that snapped her out of her bewilderment.

  “That’s not the point!” Ariana was shouting.

  “Then you must explain,” Hani pleaded.

  “How could you not tell me?”

  “Tell you what? That my father is a doctor? That he is a man who helps those who need him? I already told you that, when we were at the wadi.”

  “You call that a doctor?”

  “That? And what is the difference what my father does with his time?”

  “Oh, come on, Hani. You know how I feel about this. The next thing you’ll tell me is that you’re mixed up in all this crap too!”

  “Well, in fact, I am mixed up in all this ‘crap’, and happen to be learning it from my father. I am his apprentice.” Rachel could hear the pride in his response.

  “Ha! That’s just fucking perfect. Now please, just go get your keys and take us back to Nizwa.”

  “I cannot do that.”

  “Stop messing with me, Hani.”

  “I am serious. The storm is not yet over, and we are not sure what path it is taking. There is no way we can pass through on the road to Nizwa before tomorrow. The visibility is close to zero, and the sand will choke the engine of the car. We cannot leave until it is safe.”

  “You can’t be telling me this!”

  Rachel jumped at the desperation in Ariana’s voice. “Is everything okay?” she asked as she poked her head out the door.

  “No, everything is not okay at all!” Ariana snapped.

  “It is fine,” Hani assured her, his eyes still on Ariana. “It is just that Ariana seems to think she is too good for us, for my family, and all our ‘crap’.”

  “That is not what I said!”

  “Then what is it you said?” Hani spat out his words one by one. “Please explain it to me, so that I can understand.”

  “Maybe we should just go,” Rachel suggested.

  Hani turned to her, the anger in his face easing for a brief moment. “I’m sorry, Rachel. That will not be possible. The storm will prevent us from driving back to Nizwa for now. But you are both most welcome to stay here until it is safe.”

  “That is not happening,” Ariana began. “No way I’m staying here. I can’t even be in this house!”

  “And what is wrong with this house?” he snapped back.

  “That’s very kind of you, Hani,” Rachel interrupted, embarrassed by Ariana’s over-the-top reaction. “But I think I saw a small hotel on our way up the hill, am I right?” She sighed at the thought of a long night ahead spent calming down her fixer.

  “Well, yes, if that is what you want. I will walk with you there. But really—”

  Before Hani could finish, Ariana was already gone from the courtyard and out the front gate. “Shit,” Rachel said out loud, rushing back into the sitting room to grab her backpack and Ariana’s purse. She stopped Hani at the door. “It’s okay, Hani. I remember where the hotel is. Let me talk to her, and we’ll check in with you tomorrow morning.” Rachel ran to catch up with Ariana, fearing that in her frantic state of mind the woman would be hopelessly lost within five minutes.

  Out on the deserted street the wind was still strong, sending garbage and debris flying through the darkness with each lusty exhale. Rachel had no idea of the time—the surrounding storm had made it impossible to tell when day had passed into night.

  Ariana had not gotten far, and was uncharacteristically silent as they followed the labyrinth of roads leading from Hani’s father’s home. And though Rachel could practically hear her seething, she was too focused on the challenge of finding that damn hotel to offer any consolation. Despite the aid from a full moon that had appeared from behind the receding curtain of dust, nothing was looking remotely familiar, and with nobody to ask for directions it was beginning to look hopeless as they neared the bottom of the hill.

  When she recognized the gates of the old souk, she grabbed Ariana’s arm and hurried inside, seeking shelter from the erratic gusts and welcoming the chance to regroup.

  Suddenly things fell quiet, the wind rebuffed by the thickness of the four ancient walls. They stood at the edge of a row of shuttered stalls, the shadows of the notorious tree reaching toward them like bony fingers from the center of the courtyard.

  “What the hell are we doing in here?” Ariana’s panic echoed through the souk.

  “Jesus, Ariana, calm down. It’s okay. I’m just trying to get my bearings, all right?” Rachel brushed the sand from her sleeves, the dizziness she’d felt in the souk earlier that day returning like a roaring tide to a battered shore.

  “Calm down?”

  “Ariana, nothing has happened.” Rachel took a deep breath. “We’re fine.”

  “Maybe you’re fine, but I am far from it.” Ariana sounded as if she were about to crack.

  “What the hell is going on with you?” Rachel watched as Ariana began to pace in a little circle, shaking her head and muttering to herself as she went round and round, making Rachel even dizzier than she alr
eady was.

  She finally stopped. “That man?” Ariana pointed toward the empty stall in the far corner. “Hani’s father? He’s the one Miza went to see, you know.”

  “So I gathered.” Rachel shifted her backpack to the other shoulder.

  “And his son! He is even worse, lying about it all.”

  “Well, technically, I don’t think he lied. He may not have been specific about his family, but he didn’t lie. Give the guy a break, would you?” Rachel closed her eyes, straining to remember the route they had taken from the souk earlier, in the car.

  “Clearly he’s not to be trusted! And if he lies about that, no doubt he lies about everything else. I’ll bet he didn’t mean one word of the things he said to me.”

  “Get a grip, Ariana. He seems like a perfectly nice guy to me.”

  “Ha! They’re all like that. Always telling you you’re different than other women, how smart you are, how beautiful you are inside and out. They see a woman who doesn’t cover, and to them it means only one thing. A bunch of scam artists if you ask me. And apparently he’s no different from the rest of them. I should have known better.”

  “Come on—”

  By now Ariana was practically hyperventilating. “And being from a family like that, what kind of magic must he have used on me to make me fall for his lies? He probably put something in my food, or maybe in my drink yesterday at the wadi. What else could explain it?” Her head dropped down heavily into her hands. “Oh, why am I such an idiot?” She crumpled down onto the stoop of the stall behind them with a sob.

  “Shit, Ariana. What exactly did you two do yesterday?”

  “Nothing!”

  “You did something. I know it.”

  “Stop, Rachel.”

  “Well, whatever. You’re both adults.” Rachel rubbed her temples. “Seriously? Hani seems to be kind of a great guy. And it’s obvious that he does have feelings for you.”

  “No he doesn’t.” Ariana wiped at her face with her sleeve.

  “Now you are being an idiot.”

  “Bugger off, Rachel!”

  “Well, he does. And it’s been pretty clear that you have the hots for him as well.”